


Holding Out For A Hero

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Merry Gentry - Laurell K Hamilton, The Professionals
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-17
Updated: 2005-03-17
Packaged: 2019-02-05 15:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12797499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: There's nothing like a near death experience to get to the truth.





	Holding Out For A Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Bodie had saved all their lives, that much was sure. The five of them would have been so much CI5 history if he hadn't spotted the faulty trigger mechanism on the hand grenade. Doyle had once again cursed the necessity of using 'live' weapons in the training programme. Maybe this little potential disaster would make the Old Man think again. Bad enough having the 'bad guys' chucking bombs at you at the most unexpected moments, never mind your own colleagues. 

 

God, but Bodie had been quick off the mark. He himself would never have recognised the problem, certainly not in the thirty seconds there had been before detonation. They had been in a small bunker with a tunnel entrance and one smallish outlook window. Bodie's awareness had come from his army training, no doubt, but the inspired solution had been pure instinct. Pure Bodie! He had disregarded the tunnel entrance, there wasn't enough time, and had gone straight out the window, hurling the grenade as far as he could, as he fell. 

 

And fall he did. The drop was a good twelve feet. The fracture must have been caused as he thudded into the defensive ditch, sited in front of the bunker. The grenade had detonated too close for comfort, showering him with debris and glass fragments, although mercifully the trench itself had protected him from the worst of it. 

 

Doyle had been the first out through the tunnel, resisting the urge to go to the window for his first sight of Bodie. As he crawled out he called through to Operations demanding an ambulance, dispelling the dispatcher's vagueness with some pretty colourful language. 

 

"Bodie!" he called as he dropped into the ditch. Foolish, really for the other man was obviously out cold, but he couldn't resist it. The jump down, controlled though it was, knocked the breath out of him. He dreaded to think of the injuries his partner could have suffered. 

 

It was a tight squeeze. The ditch was narrow, the sides rough with coarse concrete, but he managed to make his way quickly to kneel beside Bodie's chest. He ignored the crazy angle of the left ankle; for the moment that was unimportant. He tore at the fastenings of the combat jacket until they parted, leaving only the flimsy material of the t-shirt, and dropped his head to listen for a heart beat. It was there, strong and regular, if a little rapid. 

 

He went through the rest of the para-medic procedure by the book, looking for major wounds, signs of internal bleeding and head injuries. Unbelievably, considering what had just happened, everything checked out. Bodie was a mass of cuts and abrasions of course, even some of the bruising had started to show, but there was nothing more serious than the fracture. Doyle's attention went back to it. It was nasty. 

 

"Make up the splint quickly! Hurry, before he comes round!" Doyle ordered Johnston who had just dropped down beside him with the para-medic kit. 

 

He glanced up. Over the edge of the trench three faces peered down, anxiously. 

"Only the good die young, lads. He's fine!" Doyle called up. 

 

Johnston had the lightweight splint ready. 

 

"Okay," Doyle said, "let's do it." 

 

He cut through the bootlaces with a penknife and opened it as far as it would go. 

 

"Hold the joint still," he ordered the other man. 

 

As the heavy boot came off Bodie whimpered, but did not waken. His partner was frantic to get the splint on, but Johnston kept his head. Within two minutes the leg and foot were effectively immobilised, and Doyle thankfully wiped the sweat out of his eyes. 

 

He called up, "Let's get him out of here, he's starting to go into shock." 

 

Several ropes were passed down. He and Johnston passed them under Bodie's body and threw up the ends. The unconscious form was roughly hauled out of the ditch with Doyle and the other man supporting the head and the injury as far as they could reach. Doyle got a leg up from Johnston, and awkwardly managed to scramble out just as Bodie was gently laid down at the edge of the trench. 

 

"Get the jeep up here!" Doyle spat out the command as he disentangled the ropes and cast them aside. 

 

Bodie was deathly pale, his hands cold. Doyle choked as the exhaust fumes from the reversing jeep billowed around him in the cold air. He picked Bodie up as the rear door was jerked open by Johnston who had somehow managed to get himself out of the ditch. 

 

The rear of the vehicle was cluttered with equipment. The others dumped it out unceremoniously to clear enough space for the two of them and he managed to get Bodie inside without jarring the injury too much. 

 

He wedged himself into the tiny space remaining and slammed the door shut. 

"Hit it, Thomas!" He took out the RT and thumbed it on. "What about that ambulance?" he demanded. 

 

"Here in three minutes, guaranteed!" came the reply. 

 

When they reached the Operations Centre it was already there, doors open, stretcher out, lights flashing - the whole bit. Doyle stood back to let the professionals move his partner. They settled him without fuss, the driver closing the doors on Doyle and Johnston when they climbed into the back. The second ambulance man began the routine treatment for shock. As he did so Bodie stirred. 

 

"Ray?" 

 

One croaky, but unmistakable word. 

 

Doyle slid forward to kneel beside him, holding on tightly to the stretcher to steady himself against the erratic movements of the speeding vehicle. 

 

Bodie fought to open his eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked, his words heavily slurred. 

 

"Am I all right?" Doyle repeated, laughing with relief. "You're a nutter, you know that?" He glanced at Johnston. "Yes, I'm fine. You're the one being rushed to hospital at ninety miles an hour, you know. Don't worry, you're going to make it, with everything intact." 

 

"The others?" Bodie questioned. 

 

"Not a scratch, mate. Thanks to you." 

 

Bodie felt his eyes close involuntarily. "You won't leave me?" he asked, already partially under again. 

 

"I'm sticking to you like glue, sunshine," Doyle reassured his unconscious partner. 

 

Ooo00O00ooO 

 

All that had been three hours ago. Now he stood by a window, trying to refrain from pacing the corridors of the casualty department. He had gone in with Bodie for the initial examination, giving the doctors all the information he could. He had talked to him as they'd roused him, none to gently, and had helped the nurse to undress him and put on a hospital gown. The doctor had told him to keep his partner awake, and he had talked his head off for an hour about the greatest load of bullshit he'd ever heard, demanding answers from Bodie to his idiotic questions, whilst they had waited for the specialist to arrive. When he had heard they'd sent for a neurologist he'd had kittens; got a bit stroppy with the doctor, too. 

 

"Calm down, Mr. Doyle, it's purely a precaution after a fall like this," the registrar had soothed him. 

 

Then they'd chased him out, so they could do tests and get Bodie down to x-ray. It was only then, when he saw Johnston sitting in a dim corner that he realised what he must look like. Combat clothes, face mud-streaked, hands filthy. He didn't smell too good, either. They had gone to wash up a bit, whilst Doyle filled Johnston in on Bodie's condition. When they returned Cowley was waiting for them. 

 

"I've just seen him, had a word with the doctor, too. He was damned lucky. And damned courageous." Cowley was at his most sincere and impressed. "He's 

incorrigible. Told me he was only saving his own skin." 

 

Doyle chuckled. "That sounds like the old Bodie." 

 

"We're going to have to take care of that lad," Cowley said with feeling. 

 

Doyle vehemently but silently agreed. Cowley had not tarried long, and when he left he'd taken Johnston with him. Doyle had felt a sense of relief as he assured them that he and Bodie would be all right. 

 

"If they let him out, I'll take him back to my place, Sir." 

 

"Right. He was asking for you, Doyle. The doctor says you can go in and stay with him once they finish the CAT scan." He patted Doyle's shoulder and continued, " Call me at home when he's settled. The time doesn't matter." 

 

"Yes, Sir," Doyle agreed. 

 

Ooo00O00ooO 

 

"Mr. Doyle." The nurse calling him from across the waiting area brought his 

attention back to the present, and he went towards her. 

 

"Mr. Doyle?" she asked as he drew closer. 

 

"Yeah." 

 

"You can come through now. I'm going to put the plaster on." 

 

They walked through to the examination cubicle. 

 

"The neurologist?" he questioned. 

 

"Everything, x-rays and scan, showed clear. We've cleaned up the superficial injuries and given him a tetanus booster." 

 

'Poor Bodie,' Doyle thought, 'being a hero had its drawbacks.' 

 

The nurse halted him. "It's a bad break. This is going to hurt." 

 

"Can't you give him something?" 

 

"Not with a potential head injury. He must only have light sleep for twenty-four hours." 

 

"I thought you said everything was clear?" 

 

"It is, but we're not going to take any risks. Standard procedure." 

 

Doyle sighed deeply. Who was he to interfere with 'standard procedure'? The nurse handed him a small medicine bottle and a glass of water. 

 

"Give him these, please," she requested. 

 

Doyle looked at the label. 

 

'Paracetamol.' 

 

He cursed under his breath. The nurse drew back the curtains and Doyle got his first good look at Bodie since all this had started. He looked groggy, but was very much awake. 

 

His colour had returned slightly. 'Not for long' thought Doyle, feeling sick to his stomach. The collection of cuts and bruises marring the handsome face was stunning to say the least. Doyle fixed a grin on his own face and walked closer. 

 

"Here you are, you courageous laddie," he mimicked Cowley's voice. "Get there down you." He held out the tablets and the water. "Not Scotch, I'm afraid." 

 

Bodie's shaky hand accepted the pills. "What are they?" 

 

"Little beauties, these," Doyle lied. "You're going to be feeling pretty good for a while." 

 

He had to hold the glass while Bodie drank, for it was more than he could manage. He watched him fall back against the pillows. 

 

"Now Mr. Bodie," the nurse said cheerfully, "I'm going to take you to the plaster room." 

 

"Hear that Bodie? You're going to get plastered." Doyle smirked at him. He had never felt less like joking in his life, but his partner needed it. 

 

"If you're a very good boy, maybe they'll let you get plastered too." Bodie teased back weakly. 

 

"Now there's a thought. A few weeks in plaster, no work, no Cowley, no reports to write .... " 

 

"Six to eight weeks," the nurse corrected. 

 

Bodie sighed as the trolley slid through the set of double doors. 

 

"Don't kid yourself, mate, Cowley'd have us in the file room, slaving away by the end of the week." 

 

"Nope," Doyle assured him, "we have to take care of you. It's official." 

 

Bodie was ridiculously pleased and he coloured slightly. 

 

"It's how I ... how we all feel, Bodie." 

 

They reached the plaster room. Doyle held the doors open, as the nurse and porter wheeled the trolley through. They settled it in the middle of the room and put the brakes on it, then the porter left. Doyle looked around. The room was filled with all sorts of strange instruments, but some of them he recognised. He'd had a representative assortment of fractures, much to his parents' distress. 

 

He slipped off his jacket, feeling hot and light-headed. The nurse was running through the usual patter, the theory being that if you prepared the patient with the facts there would be no problem. Bodie didn't look too convinced. She set out all the plaster bandages she needed and measured the desired length of tubular dressing. 

 

"Mr. Doyle, could you fill that bucket with water?" 

 

Doyle located the sink and did as he was told, replacing the bucket in the steel hoop at the side of the plaster trolley. 

 

"Good. Thanks," The nurse was putting on a huge green plastic apron. "This stuff gets everywhere," she said, handing him a second one. 

 

"I'll put some absorbent sheets down. The floor will get dripping wet, and we don't want anyone else to fall and break something, do we?" 

 

Bodie nodded in agreement. 

 

"Now, this plaster will get warm as I put it on," the nurse told him. 

 

"Don't worry. It's supposed to happen. We're going to help you to sit up and put your leg over the side. Are we ready?" 

 

She put the side of the trolley down, and motioned Doyle forward. Very gently they eased Bodie up and she supported the injured leg as best she could until it dangled over the edge, the foot a bluish colour below a grotesquely swollen ankle. The breath went sharply out of him as the pressure of gravity acted on the limb. He gripped at Doyle's supportive arm, his lips drawn in a tight line. 

"Well done! " The nurse patronised. "Now, I'm going to put on the dressing. Mr. Doyle's going to talk to you, help you to breathe nice and deeply and regularly." 

 

Ray Doyle's mind went blank, wiped by his anguish for his partner's pain. 

 

Right!" he mumbled. "Want to try some of Macklin's breathing techniques?" 

 

"No!" came the strangled reply. 

 

"Well, we're going to do them anyway. Come on mate, together. Breathe in, one, two, three .... " 

 

Bodie jerked again, his hands clenching, biting into Doyle's arm as the dressing brushed the sensitized skin. He made a conscious effort to relax and breathe slowly. Sweat had started to bead on his forehead. Doyle could feel a trickle of his own sweat run down his spine, and his upper lip stung with it, but he held his protective grip on his partner. 

 

Already his muscles were aching from the tension of it, but he ignored the ache. He glanced down. The tubular dressing and layer of lint had been applied, and the nurse was cutting up what looked like a strip of felt. 

 

"Now, bend your knee ... a little more ... good. I'm going to put on a piece of protective dressing just at that little bone beside your kneecap. It can get very tender with a plaster on this high." She probed the knee until she found the exact spot. 

 

"Okay, now, listen carefully, Mr. Bodie. You can make this a lot easier on yourself. I have to set the ankle joint so it's in your normal standing position. At a right angle. See?" 

 

She demonstrated with her own foot. Doyle couldn't help a little smile. The look on Bodie's face was not the one he usually wore when contemplating a shapely female leg. 

 

"Got it?" the nurse asked. "Good, now you start getting into position. I don't want to have to help, okay?" 

 

Bodie had lost the power of speech and turned the colour of a ripe avocado. While his attention was riveted on his ankle the nurse looked significantly at Doyle. He prepared to hold on tighter. She reached round and dipped the first bandage into the water. 

 

Regarding the abused joint, she said, "Very well done. Keep it like that, I'll take care of the last few centimetres. Are we ready?" 

 

No one answered. She wrapped the wet, sticky bandage around the foot once and placed her left palm flat on the sole. 

 

"Big, deep breath, now." 

 

Bodie did as he was told. She pushed upward, and he stiffened. 

 

"Jesus!" he muttered softly, tightly controlled. 

 

Doyle's eyes never left his face. he prayed that the nurse was good 

at her job. 

 

"Give me your hand Bodie." 

 

Their right hands gripped fiercely. Bodie's left had went to Doyle's shoulder, pulling him close. Their foreheads touched. Bodie was breathing raggedly. 

 

"Big, deep breaths, please mate ..." 

 

Bodie tried more for Doyle's sake than his own. 

 

The nurse finished the first bandage and dipped her hands into the water. She placed them, soaking wet, on the bandage and began massaging it firmly to give the plaster its smooth, solid finish. Doyle remembered that this had always been the worst bit for him. He held on tightly, feeling tears gather and having no control over them. 

 

"Let it out, love," he said, "we know it hurts." 

 

Bodie still stifled the cry as the second bandage went on. Doyle began babbling everything and anything. He couldn't hold onto the strong, silent image any longer. Bodie was too important to him. He had to tell him that. 

 

"You're never going to be hurt again. I won't let you. You know how much you scared me back there? I thought it was over. I couldn't take that, you know, I need you ..... " 

 

The rest of the ordeal passed in a haze of pain and endearments, and then it was finished. Bodie looked numb, but Doyle was suddenly very aware of where he was and what he had said. The nurse stepped into the alcove to wash her hands. She was very discreet. 

 

'Bloody hell,' thought Doyle, 'what must they think of me?' 

 

He looked at his hands, still tightly entwined with Bodie's. He was afraid to look up. 

 

"Ray?" The voice was weak, but very warm. 

 

Now Doyle was the one taking the deep breaths. He looked up. He had seen that look often, and Bodie made no attempt to hide the desire, but deep within the blue eyes shone something he'd rarely seen - if ever. 

 

Love. 

 

That simple. 

 

Love. 

 

And to chase away any remaining doubts or fears, Bodie whispered, "I love you too, sunshine." 

 

It was for no one else to hear. It was a coming home, words of welcome, words of final commitment, for both of them. Doyle pulled him into a brief embrace, then they separated, glancing around. 

 

"Christ, look at the state of us," Doyle said. "I don't think romance is going to be our forte." They both laughed. 

 

"To hell with romance," Bodie said. "I want you. Have done for a long time." 

 

Doyle took it in slowly. "I'm afraid it just came to me in a blinding flash, about three minutes ago." 

 

"You always were slow on the uptake about things that matter. And please - don't let's talk about three minutes ago," Bodie requested sincerely. 

 

"Uh right .... are you okay?" 

 

"I'll live," he said, placing a hand on Doyle's face. 

 

"This is a second chance, Bodie. I'm so lucky." 

 

"We're both lucky. I ... " But he did not get a chance to finish. 

 

The nurse returned and they drew apart. She checked the plaster. Then the doctor checked the plaster. It was pronounced adequate, and Bodie was wheeled down to admissions because they had decided to keep him in for forty-eight hours observation. Doyle was disappointed and at the same time relieved. He knew Bodie felt the same way. It was all a bit overwhelming. This way gave them some breathing space. 

 

Not that Doyle had any intention of leaving him. He flashed his badge at the ward sister and claimed that he was guarding Mr. Bodie from further possible threats, and she capitulated immediately. 

 

Bodie was put in a small side ward, and Doyle pulled the flimsy curtain around them to give them as much privacy as possible. He helped Bodie to take a second dose of paracetamol, and then held him in a firm embrace, more protective and comforting than anything else. 

 

"Later, love," came Bodie's whispered promise against his ear. 

 

They kissed lightly and settled down. 

 

"I love you," Doyle said for the first time, needing to hear himself say it. 

Bodie could only grunt sleepily in response. Doyle settled him back against the pillows and caught hold of his hand. He switched off the lamp, and dropped his own weary head onto the bed. He knew he should go and call Cowley, but no way was he leaving this man. It had taken a long time, but at last he had his priorities right. 

 

He went to sleep, contemplating the dawn of a new day when life for them would begin in earnest.


End file.
